


Comfort & Pain

by mothdotjpeg



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Conversations, M/M, Metaphors, Murder Husbands, One Shot, Therapy, atm this is a, i might add on? idk, nothing really happens they just chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26902267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothdotjpeg/pseuds/mothdotjpeg
Summary: “Comfort and pain, they co-exist like tired lovers. Old childhood friends who grew apart but always fall back on each other. When pain bleeds, comfort holds its hand. When comfort fails, pain embraces it. They were grown together, they ate the same food, shared the same bed, and they know one day they will die together as well.” He’s changing the subject, but Hannibal can’t stop him. Can’t interject when he’s standing there, in the middle of his office, speaking to him. Cold gaze, frigid body, as though it all clicked together right now. As if God had put His hand on Will’s shoulder and whispered in his ear -but Hannibal hadn’t moved.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 9





	Comfort & Pain

“And what of my mind?” It was asked easily, like the evening air that filtered through the open window. As breathlessly and thoughtless as the curtains that waved slightly in the cool breeze. Open and honest night air, black with shadows. 

“And what of my mind?” He mocked, lightheartedly with that look in his eyes. A look that made Will stare for a long while before turning back to the bookshelves. And what of his mind? The mind Hannibal craved to peek inside, but he was always stuck behind some glass. The black shadows loomed as their bodies drifted apart, one stiff and tense despite the history, the other gentle like the wind as it closed the large windows. “Better?” Asked to the silence, eyes returning to Will’s back which faced him. He shrugged. 

“Your mind…” The tenseness in those shoulders squeezed, mimicking what he was doing with his eyes as he thought. Hannibal enjoyed the way it was released with a sigh as he passed by those bookshelves to the fireplace. Enjoyed the way his breath tasted in the air as he focused on Hannibal’s movements. A silence fell as Hannibal carefully built a fire in his fireplace, his arms covered in goosebumps from the cold arm. His jacket had been forgotten. Wood bumping against wood, a match stick striking the box, the hiss of the small flame soon to grow. Will was like the fire, his body warm as it settled next to Hannibal’s. Slowly stretching his vertebrae back in the right order, face tilting ever so slightly to observe Will’s gaze. 

“Your mind has no home.” Orange danced across his face, a lost emotion behind his features as Hannibal turned to watch the fire. His voice was threaded with concern, worry, something that made Hannibal crave to soothe his anxieties. Anxieties danced in the shadows the firelight cast, maybe they would die there too. 

“The homeless are not weak.” Maybe it had been the way Will hadn’t strayed too far from him tonight or the open honest evening air that still set shivers up his back, whatever it was Hannibal felt comfortable. His voice made that recognizable. He wanted to be seen, at least the way Will saw things. 

“I never said they were.” That’s when Will’s body shifted closer, hotter than the fire that had grown to a steady roar in front of them. The evening air pushed away as his own rough hand gently took Hannibal’s, turning his palm up to their faces. Light fingers traced his own, so softly it almost took him by surprise. Mimicking the night air. 

“You have walls,” He hadn’t ever initiated touch like this before, it was raw and hurt a little. A hurt that Hannibal would’ve given his all too if he could have. The fingers lingered another moment, fingertip to fingertip. “Walls that you built with your own hands.” Rough skin on rough skin, but it felt soft. Will dropped his hand and leaned back, not comfortable. Not worrying. Just honest. Sometimes those just happened to coexist. 

“Does that make me weak?” A warm laugh, as warm as his body, the crinkle in his eyes. Eyes that hadn’t left Hannibal, how strangely confident this man was. Unusual, but never unwelcome. They watched each other, the orange light reflection on their skin and hair. Admiring, however hard they tried not too. 

“Weakness is only for the strong.” Hands buried in his pockets, gaze now settled on the fire. Cloudy blue eyes focused on the things around him. He knew it grounded him, he wanted to help ground him. 

“And you think I am not strong?” A smile pressed to both their lips, one caught off-guard by the question. His gaze faltered to meet Hannibal’s, it was burning hot. Maroon gaze flickering between Will’s eyes, searching for an answer. Be patient, be patient, be patient. 

“I do not think, I simply know.” The smile in his voice as he finally looked back to the fire, Hannibal grunted and shook his head. Cunning boy. His cunning boy. 

“And how do you  _ know _ ?” His body turned, the crooked smile fading a bit. Lost in thought, how would he ever get Will out of his own mind? Hannibal wanted to try, he had been failing. The crackle of the fire was soothing, painting Will’s face with a feeling of home and secureness. He looked younger, less stressed, like he was a normal man. Normal was never a word Hannibal would use to describe him though, even like this. 

“I get paid to know, Dr. Lecter. It’s all I do.” Hannibal smiled to him as he spoke, his words said to the fire. There was melancholy in his voice, a reminder of his life. His mind. He was trying to distract, focus on Hannibal’s mind. But what of his mind? 

“You don’t get paid to know me.” It was a reminder like the fire was a reminder of who Will could grow to be. He seemed to ignore them both, letting the silent understanding stick to their skin. Will processed his words, the meaning behind.  _ You want to know me, don’t you?  _ A taunt in the darkness of Hannibal’s office. 

“Don’t you?” A jab in response, striking red like the fire. It wasn’t out of character, Hannibal’s skin still itched at the words. The rudeness from between a smile, a reminder. Oh, he would never accept compensation for his own desires. Will’s mind, his time, those were priceless. Hannibal licked his lips and looked at the fire instead of Will, thinking. 

“Yet you are the one picking apart my mind.” Will hummed, Hannibal’s catching how he peeked at Hannibal from the corner of his eye. Looking, but not wanting to be caught. For a moment, the crackling fire and the evening air that was tinted with heat, Hannibal let him look without being looked back at. But that moment was over as Hannibal turned to catch his eyes and continue, “Our jobs are not dissimilar?” Will shook his head, looking away from whatever was behind Hannibal’s eyes. 

“I become the monsters, you just observe them.” Observe. Spoken with intent, with alternate meaning.  _ You just create them.  _ It’s what he wanted to say, yet he was unsure. But Hannibal did more than observe. 

“Do I not take care of monsters, just like you?” Something about Hannibal’s words was making Will unsettled. “Monsters” spoken with sarcasm, the desire to compare them was obvious. He wanted to see Will unsettled, a kettle brewing. Will glared into the fire, leaning back against Hannibal’s desk to steady himself. 

“You don’t take very good care of me.” The fire felt frigid, Will moving away from the desk to pace somewhere. In the darkness of the room, away from Hannibal. How petty, how oh-so-very Will. He let the words hang, letting Will settle in the space and the movements. He watched. He  _ observed _ . They hung, like the aftermath of the night air in the office. The fire stuttered, the curtains waved in a non-existent breeze. Will paced. Back and forth. The silence grew. The words hung. 

“Do you want me to take care of you, Will?” That made him stop. The air froze, his body tensing. Absentmindedly he ran his thumb over his knuckles, a reminder. How pretty, covered in shadows, the faintest of firelight in his eyes as he turned to face Hannibal. His bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes glittering but distant. Lost in his mind. 

“Comfort and pain, they co-exist like tired lovers. Old childhood friends who grew apart but always fall back on each other. When pain bleeds, comfort holds its hand. When comfort fails, pain embraces it. They were grown together, they ate the same food, shared the same bed, and they know one day they will die together as well.” He’s changing the subject, but Hannibal can’t stop him. Can’t interject when he’s standing there, in the middle of his office, speaking to him. Cold gaze, frigid body, as though it all clicked together right now. As if God had put His hand on Will’s shoulder and whispered in his ear -but Hannibal hadn’t moved. He just observed. “Instinct makes you want to crush the good, kill the suffering, comfort the unforgivable.” Will’s eyes darted to Hannibal’s tongue as he licked his lips, trying not to enjoy the darkness in Will’s words. The way he spoke as though he needed to teach Hannibal. Make him understand. Oh, how he understood. 

“You view instinct as weak?” His head snapped back up to meet those maroon eyes at the interruption, who was being rude now? Any care for covering his enjoyment was out the window as he pushed himself off the desk, he had been leaning on, and sauntered to a few feet in front of Will. 

“Weakness is for the strong, remember Dr. Lecter.” Will met his gaze strongly, the words almost spat. He breathed in the air, the space between him and Hannibal felt nonexistent.

“We are all strong, are we not?” Hannibal skirted even closer, never evading Will’s space. Letting their bodies grow comfortable together, neither of them looked away.

“Some of us just prefer our weakness.” Did he mean himself or Hannibal, he wondered as those blue eyes darted around Hannibal’s face. Looking for a response. “The weak find solitude in knowing their nature was built purposefully. They let the lines be blurred, they let themselves embrace pain because they know they will feel comfortable.” Comfortable, their bodies were as Hannibal lingered closer. Will’s eyes traced the lines of Hannibal’s face, he was listening carefully to Will’s words. It felt powerful, Hannibal wanted him to feel powerful. 

“Are you comfortable?” He grunted and looked away from Hannibal, trying to figure out his own words in response to Hannibal’s never-ending questions. 

“I thought we were talking about your mind.” Will’s eyes dart back to Hannibal’s when he hears him chuckle, shifting his weight as he stood, liking how those blue eyes felt on his skin. Skin covered in shadows, hair standing on end Hannibal noticed. The fire was flickering behind them, out of reach. Will leaned his head back, Hannibal observed the open skin of his neck as Will sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I am never comfortable.” He decided it as he spoke, but it came from the depth of his chest like a secret that had been locked away. 

“Does that make you strong?” Will itched under Hannibal’s constant gaze, hands fidgeting with the air. He didn’t step too close, meet Will’s eyes, he just watched respectfully. The room felt too silent for a moment as Will held his breath, shakily meeting those maroon eyes again. 

“You’re always comfortable.” A confirmation in his eyes. “Does that make you weak?” Hannibal cocked his head, a smile on his lips, clever Will. Always wanting to dig under Hannibal’s skin, always winning this game. The silence grew for a moment, Hannibal moved away from Will. Letting the conversation settle in the air, he made his way to the window and cracked it open again. Eyes on his back, watching his every move. Silence filled the shadows, the air, every pour in their skin. When Hannibal turned from the window, he saw Will leaning against his desk again watching the fire patiently. 

“You’re never comfortable?” He liked how Will’s body felt close to his as he moved to the fire, the way his eyes flickered to meet his. Just a second, just a confirmation, before he looked back at the flames. Hannibal settled next to Will, bodies so close, hands inside pockets even though they wanted to be somewhere else, eyes not meeting. 

“No.” A whisper, an admission. Was he comfortable in the un-comfort? Then why did he want so much more than this? Why did he want to be weak? 

“Whatever shall we do about that?” 

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hot minute folks. I have a more interesting fic coming soon but here's this one. I liked writing it, idk how fun or exciting it is but I hope you enjoy these gay losers talking about like nothing and everything as per usual.


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